It chanced that she met Joe the next morning after she had made that short incursion between the brown covers of his book, as she was returning from the well and he was setting out for the hog-lot between two pails of sour swill. He stood out of the path to let her pass without stepping into the long, dewy grass. She put her bucket down with a gasp of weariness, and looked up into his eyes with a smile. The buckets were heavy in Joe's hands; he stood them down, meeting her friendly advances with one of his rare smiles, which came as seldom to his face, thought she, as a hummingbird to the honeysuckle on the kitchen porch. "Whew, this is going to be a scorcher!" said she. "I believe it is," he agreed. From the opposite sides of the path their eyes met. Both smiled again, and felt better for it. "My, but you're a mighty religious boy, aren't you?" she asked suddenly. "Religious?" said he, looking at her in serious surprise. She nodded girlishly. The sun, long slanting through the cherry-trees, fell on her hair, loosely gathered up after her sleep, one free strand on her cheek. "No, I'm not religious." "Well, you read the Bible all the time." "Oh, well!" said he, stooping as if to lift his pails. "Why?" she wanted to know. Joe straightened his long back without his pails. Beyond the orchard the hogs were clamoring shrilly for their morning draught; from the barn there came the sound of Isom's voice, speaking harshly to the beasts. "Well, because I like it, for one thing," said he, "and because it's the only book I've got here, for another." "My, I think it's awful slow!" said she. "Do you?" he inquired, as if interested in her likes and dislikes at last. "I'd think you'd like other books better--detective stories and that kind," she ventured. "Didn't you ever read any other book?" "Some few," he replied, a reflection as of amusement in his eyes, which she thought made them look old and understanding and wise. "But I've always read the Bible. It's one of the books that never seems to get old to you." "Did you ever read _True as Steel_?" "No, I never did." "Or _Tempest and Sunshine_?" He shook his head. "Oh-h," said she, fairly lifting herself by the long breath which she drew, like the inhalation of a pleasant recollection, "you don't know what you've missed! They are lovely!" "Well, maybe I'd like them, too." He stooped again, and this time came up with his pails. "I'm glad you're not religious, anyhow," she sighed, as if heaving a trouble off her heart. "Are you?" he asked, turning to her wonderingly. "Yes; religious people are so glum," she explained. "I never saw one of them laugh." "There are some that way," said Joe. "They seem to be afraid they'll go to hell if they let the Almighty hear them laugh. Mother used to be that way when she first got _her_ religion, but she's outgrowing it now."